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MidReal Story
The Truth About My Girl
Scenario:When I first started dating Emmy, I thought she was perfect. Sweet, caring, and easy to be around. But over time, her mask slipped.
A year into our relationship, and she’s turned into someone I barely recognize. Arrogant, critical, and always reminding me how her ex did everything better. Every little thing I do feels like a mistake.
Tonight is no different. I’m late picking her up after her girls’ night, thanks to the traffic. The moment I see her, she’s already scowling.
“Seriously? My ex would’ve been here early—and he wouldn’t be driving a crap car like this!”
Create my version of this story
Jamie Bennett
boyfriend, relationships with Emmy and friends, average build, brown hair, conflicted and patient
Emmy Knight
girlfriend, relationship with Jamie and friends, slender with blonde hair, initially sweet but now critical
Natalia Hayes
mutual friend of Jamie and Emmy, supportive of Jamie
It’s been a few months since Emmy and I started going out.
At first, she was really sweet.
But now, she’s always on my case about something.
I feel like I can’t do anything right anymore.
And it doesn’t help that she constantly brings up her ex, who was apparently perfect.
I’ve tried to be patient and understanding, but it’s getting harder and harder.
"Emmy, I told you. I was working late with some friends. I wasn’t out at some bar with girls all over the place."
I try to keep my voice calm, but Emmy is making this conversation extremely difficult.
"I don’t know why you feel the need to lie to me, Jamie," she huffs.
"I just told you, I’m not lying."
"Why should I believe you? Your friends are all players. I’m sure you’re just like them," she snaps.
"Emmy, I swear. Nothing happened. Can we just drop it?"
I sigh.
"Fine, but if I find out you’re lying to me, it will be over between us," she warns.
I want to tell her that if she didn’t trust me, then maybe we shouldn’t be together.
But I don’t want to lose her.
She continues to rant and rave about how I’m probably just like my friends, and how she knows I’m lying.
I grip the steering wheel tighter and tighter, trying to keep my anger in check.
But it’s getting harder and harder.
The pressure is building in my chest, and I can feel myself starting to snap.
I try to think of something else, anything else, but all I can see is my sister’s pale face in the hospital bed.
I pull the car over to the curb and cut Emmy off mid-sentence.
"I’m sorry, Emmy. But I have to tell you something."
"What is it?"
She looks at me with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.
"My sister has cancer," I say, my voice shaking.
"She was diagnosed a few months ago. She’s been going through chemo treatments, and it’s been really hard on her."
"I’m sorry, Jamie. But what does that have to do with us?"
Emmy asks, her expression softening slightly.
"I’ve been spending a lot of time at the hospital with my family. That’s why I was late picking you up tonight. Traffic was terrible, but I should have left earlier."
"I had no idea," Emmy says, looking guilty.
"Why didn’t you tell me?"
"I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want you to worry about me."
"Well, you should have told me," Emmy says gently.
"Jamie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accused you of lying." "It’s okay," I say, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.
"I know you were just worried about me."
"Can we start over?"
Emmy asks, looking at me hopefully.
"Of course," I say, smiling weakly.
The rest of the ride is quiet, but it’s not uncomfortable.
We both know that we needed this talk.
When we get back to Emmy’s house, she leans over and kisses me softly on the cheek before getting out of the car.
"Goodnight, Jamie," she says sweetly.
"Goodnight," I reply, watching her walk up the path to her front door.
I hope that this is a turning point for us.
I want things to go back to how they were when we first started dating.
But as I drive away, I realize that some things can never be the same again.
After our kiss, Emmy and I sit in the car for a few minutes.
We both know that the peace between us is fragile, and we don’t want to break it.
But eventually, we have to get out of the car and go back to our lives.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see who it is.
It’s my mom.
I look at Emmy, who is starting to open her car door.
"Emmy, wait."
She looks at me curiously as I answer the phone.
"Hello?"
I say into the receiver.
"Jamie, it’s Mom," she says, her voice cracking.
"Sarah’s taken a turn for worse. You need to get here as soon as possible."
My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel.
"Emmy, get back in," I say without waiting for her response.
I lean across and pull her door shut before making a sharp U-turn.
I speed towards the hospital, Emmy sitting silently beside me.
I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles are turning white.
At a red light, Emmy reaches out to touch the radio, but she stops herself and lets it stay on.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket.
Another text from Mom.
Sarah’s vitals are declining rapidly.
I clench my jaw and accelerate through the green light.
I slam my palm against the steering wheel as another car cuts me off.
I have to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting them.
Emmy jolts forward in her seat, but she doesn’t say anything.
We’re only three blocks away from the hospital when we hit gridlock traffic.
A fender-bender up ahead has cars backed up for a mile.
I check my phone again, and there’s another message from Mom.
Sarah’s heart rate is dropping.
I can feel my leg bouncing against the floor mat as I scan the road for any opening between cars.
"Maybe we should take a side street," Emmy suggests, but I barely hear her.
When the SUV in front of us inches forward, I gun it and nearly clip their bumper.
I grip the steering wheel tightly, watching their brake lights taunt me.
They haven’t moved in two minutes.
Emmy shifts uncomfortably beside me, and I lean on the horn.
But the traffic doesn’t budge.
My phone buzzes again, and I pull it out of my pocket to see who it is.
It’s Mom again.
The doctors are rushing in.
Sarah’s heart has stopped beating.
I slam my palm against the steering wheel several times, and Emmy flinches beside me.
I can feel my blood boiling as I stare at the SUV ahead of us, whose brake lights mock me.
The driver glances back at me through his rearview mirror and flips me off.
I throw open my door, and Emmy cries out, "Jamie! What are you doing?"
But I’m already storming towards the SUV, pounding on his window.
"Move!"
I feel Emmy’s hand wrap around my bicep, but she’s not strong enough to pull me back.
"Jamie, please," she whispers.
"I’m sorry."
The SUV driver rolls up his window and locks his doors with a click.
My fist stays raised in the air, shaking with rage.
I can feel Emmy’s other hand on my shoulder, steadying me as we wait for the traffic lights to pass.
Headlights from passing cars illuminate tears on her cheeks.
"Sarah needs you," she says, her voice cracking.
"We have to find another way."
I lower my arm slowly, and when Emmy tugs me back toward our car, I don’t resist.
I slide back into the driver's seat, determination replacing anger as I turn the wheel sharply and take the next side street.
I scan the road ahead, looking for any route to the hospital.
Emmy is silent beside me, and I can't tell if she's scared or sad.
The next side street is blocked by a police barricade.
I slam on the brakes and spin the wheel around, heading back to the main road.
At the next intersection, I spot a police officer directing traffic.
He looks up when he sees my face contorted in distress.
I'm not sure if he sees Emmy crying beside me, but he hurries over to our window as I roll it down.
Before I can explain what's happening, Emmy leans across me and tells him about my sister at the hospital.
The officer's expression softens from stern to sympathetic as he glances at Emmy's tear-stained cheeks.
He speaks into his radio for a moment, then waves us forward, pointing to a service road that's been blocked off with barricades. Up ahead, other officers start moving barricades out of our way, clearing a path through the traffic chaos.
I grip the steering wheel tightly, watching the barricades disappear in my rearview mirror as we speed down the service road.
My mind flashes back to the last time I saw Sarah, smiling at me despite the tubes in her arms.
"Don't worry so much," she said.
"I'll be fine."
Emmy's hand finds mine on the gearshift, but I pull away.
I need to focus on driving.
We pass the last police barricade and can see the hospital's emergency entrance ahead.
The phone buzzes again in my pocket, but I can't bring myself to look at it.
I screech into the first available parking spot, tires scraping the curb as I slam into park.
My hands fumble with the seatbelt clasp, but I finally wrench it free.
"Jamie," Emmy calls, but I'm already shoving the door open.
My feet hit the pavement at a run.
The sound of Emmy's heels clicking behind me barely registers as I sprint toward the emergency entrance.
The automatic doors slide open too slowly, forcing me to squeeze through the gap.
The antiseptic hospital smell hits me like a punch to the gut as I scan the waiting room for Mom.
My heart pounds against my ribs like a drum.
"Jamie, wait," Emmy's voice catches up to me as she grabs my arm.
"They moved her to ICU," Mom says, appearing from around the corner with eyes red from worry.
"What happened?" I ask, feeling the weight of her words sink in.
"She coded," Mom says, holding out her hand like she wants me to stop.
I push past her, my shoes squeaking against the polished floor.
"Jamie, slow down," Emmy calls as I race toward the ICU.
A nurse steps in front of me at the station, but I dodge around her.
"Jamie!"
Mom calls after me.
I round the corner and scan the room numbers on the doors.
"Room 412," Mom calls from behind me, breathless from running.
I glance back over my shoulder and see Emmy apologizing to the nurse.
The ICU's double doors loom ahead, requiring a keycard for entry.
I slam my palm against the intercom button, breathing hard as I wait for someone to buzz me through.
The moment the doors unlock, I shove them open.
My shoes squeal against the polished floor as I sprint down the corridor.
The antiseptic smell grows stronger, filling my nostrils with its pungent scent.
I follow the room numbers on the doors.
408... 410... 412.
I skid to a stop outside her room, my heart pounding in my chest.
Through the glass window, I see medical staff gathered around her bed.
Their faces are grim, and I can't read their expressions.
A nurse blocks my path as I try to enter.
"She's still coding," she says, her voice firm but kind.
"We're trying to stabilize her."
I press my forehead against the cold window, watching as they work on her still form.
The nurse stands firm, refusing to let me pass.
Her expression softens.
"Please," I whisper, my voice cracking.
"I need to be in there."
She glances at the doctor, who's checking Sarah's vitals.
Emmy and Mom catch up to me, both breathing hard.
The nurse hesitates, then pushes the door open a crack.
"Stay in the corner," she warns.
"Don't interfere."
I nod quickly and edge into the room, the beeping monitors growing louder.
I stand in the corner, watching as the medical team works on her.
The doctor barks orders, and the nurses move efficiently around the bed.
The heart monitor's erratic beeping fills the room.
I take a small step forward, and the nurse raises her hand to stop me.
Through gaps between the staff, I glimpse Sarah's pale face, tubes running from her mouth and arms.
The doctor calls out numbers I don't understand.
A nurse adjusts something on the IV pole.
"Jamie," Emmy whispers, her voice trembling, "I overheard them say she might need a transplant."
Mom's hand grips my shoulder tighter, and she murmurs, "We need to prepare ourselves for what comes next."
I swallow hard, my throat dry, and ask, "What if... what if they can't find a match in time?"
The medical team continues to work on Sarah, their urgent whispers and the beeps of the machines filling the cramped room.
The doctor shakes his head at something a nurse says, and she adjusts something on the IV drip.
Sarah's chest rises and falls mechanically with the ventilator's rhythm, her skin almost translucent under the harsh lights.
Mom's grip on my shoulder tightens as the heart monitor's rhythm becomes more erratic.
The doctor turns to us, his expression grim.
"Her organs are failing faster than we expected."
The weight of his words hits me like a physical blow.
I stumble backward out of the room, my vision blurring.
As I pass Emmy, I see tears streaming down her face.
I turn away, feeling the world collapse around me.
I lean against the wall outside her room, my legs weak and threatening to give out.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply, trying to find some semblance of control.
The nurse who blocked me earlier approaches, her blue scrubs rustling softly as she walks.
She stops in front of me, glancing around cautiously before speaking.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"I know I had to do my job."
I nod, acknowledging her apology.
"Thank you for letting me see her."
She leans against the wall beside me, her gaze fixed on Sarah's door.
"She's a fighter. She'll get through this."
Her voice is filled with conviction.
I glance at her name tag: Samantha.
"You're right," I say softly.
"She is."
Samantha clears her throat, drawing my attention back to her.
"Listen... there's a specialist I know who focuses on experimental treatments for cases like hers. He has a good track record. I can give you his number if you want to reach out."
Her words are hushed but filled with urgency.
My heart skips a beat at the mention of possible help, and I turn fully toward her.
"Experimental treatments?"
She nods quietly.
"He's worked on several cases like this and seen success rates. Not many hospitals have the resources he does."
A surge of hope rises in me, tempered by caution.
I've heard too many stories about false promises already. "Do you know much about him? What kind of success rates?"
She glances nervously over her shoulder, making sure no one is nearby.
Then she pulls out her phone and shows me a few articles on the screen.
"He's got an impressive track record with cases similar to hers."
The articles are from reputable sources, detailing breakthroughs in organ regeneration and innovative therapies.
A surge of determination fills me.
"Where is he located? What's his name?"
She hesitates, then says quietly, "He's in New York City. His name is Dr. Nathaniel Grey. I can give you his contact information if you'd like."
As we speak, another nurse passes us in the hallway, giving Samantha a curious glance.
Samantha quickly pockets her phone and stands up straighter, clearing her throat as if we'd simply been discussing hospital policies or something equally mundane.
"If you're interested in speaking with him," she continues in a more neutral voice, "I'll meet you in the cafeteria in ten minutes to give you his number. Just come alone."
I nod, trying to process everything.
"Thank you, Samantha," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
She gives me a reassuring smile before walking away, leaving me with a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.